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Creekfinding: A True Story by Jacqueline Briggs Martin and Claudia McGehee

Oct18

Once there was a creek in northeast Iowa that got covered up by a cornfield. Then, a guy named Mike bought the land and anted to bring the creek back. But it took a lots of planning and work and rocks and dirt and plants and insects and birds and fish—and even some big earth-moving machines–to revive the creek and make a place for Brook Creek to flourish and nourish both people and wildlife.

“If you went to the creek with Mike, you’d see the water. But a creek isn’t just water. You’d see brook trout and sculpin. You’d hear the outdoor orchestra—herons, snipe, bluebirds, yellowthroat warblers; frogs returned home; and insects–thousands, and thousands, and thousands of insects.”

I’m not much of an outdoors girl. But I did find this true story of how Mike Osterholm, who is “passionate about the prairie, cold water streams, brook trout, and partnering with the earth,” decided to revive the creek that once flowed through his land and how he did it, a fascinating one. The implication in the book, never stated, is that a cornfield is of lesser value or “earth-friendliness” than a brook full of trout. I’m not so sure about that. But a brook was what Mike wanted, just as the farmer who owned the land before him wanted a cornfield, and I liked reading about how it all came about.

The illustrations by artist Claudia McGehee, are all “prairie greens, creek blues,” yellows and browns, nature colors. Etched out in scratchboard and then painted, the pictures are evocative of a wild natural world restored, and they do add to the text a certain earthy feeling that couldn’t be achieved by words alone. It’s a beautiful book, and for this indoor girl, it makes me actually want to find a creek or a brook or some sort of running water to sit beside and observe. That’s a sign of a well done nature picture book.

This book was recommended to me by Sandy Spencer Hall of Hall’s Living Library. It would be a good addition to a Charlotte Mason-style nature study read aloud time, best served next to flowing water—or perhaps in a cornfield?

Across So Many Seas by Ruth Behar

Oct17

Across So Many Seas, the story of four twelve year old Sephardic Jewish girls from different time periods, felt very . . . educational. I didn’t mind the didactic tone of the story, and I was somewhat fascinated by the saga of the Sephardic Jewish experience from Spain to Turkey to Cuba to the United States (Miami). We tend to know and read more about Ashkenazi, Eastern European Jews and Judaism than we do about the Sephardic Jewish people, who came from Spain after the 1492 expulsion of the Jews under King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella (yes, Columbus’s sponsors). These Sephardic Jews spoke a Spanish-derived language called Ladino and either became conversos (converts to Catholicism) under threat of death, or left Spain as refugees, going to Italy and Turkey and other places to find freedom to practice their Jewish faith.

The first story in Across So Many Seas features Benvenida, a Jewish girl living in Toledo, Spain in 1492, during the Spanish Inquisition and the expulsion of the Jews. Benvenida’s family is forced to leave Spain, and they end up living in Turkey where the sultan has promised them freedom of religion. Again the story feels as if the author has a lesson to teach: “Here’s a story, children, to teach you about your history and heritage. Listen, while I make it into a tale for your edification.” Benvenida, who speaks and thinks like a miniature adult, never seems like a real person, only a vehicle for the teaching of history. But still, I was interested enough in the history to keep reading.

The other three girls in the story are Reina (Turkey, 1921), Alegra (Cuba, 1961), and Paloma (Miami, FL, 2003). These three are grandmother, mother, and daughter, and their tales are full of more displacement and emigration, as each girl experiences her own story of travel across the seas. Only Paloma seems to have a stable home where she can make free choices for herself without having to labor under the prejudice of others and the expectations that her family has for proper Jewish girls.

The author, Ruth Behar, comes from both Ashkenazi and Sephardic Jewish ancestry. The book is based in part on the story of Ms. Behar’s Abuela, her paternal grandmother, who came to the United States via Turkey and Cuba and who was of Sephardic heritage. It’s a lovely tribute to Ms. Behar’s heritage and to her grandmother, and I enjoyed learning more about this stream of history. But be warned that the book is heavy on the history and light on believable characterization, dialogue, and plot.

The Silver Donkey by Sonya Hartnett

Oct15

It’s easy, almost inescapable, to find children’s books set before, during and after World War II–fiction, adventure stories, Holocaust stories, biography, memoir, nonfiction about battles and about the home front. I have about three shelves full of World War II books. But when I am asked to recommend books about or set during World War I, the task is harder. There are some good books about World War I, fiction and nonfiction, even picture books, but that war just doesn’t live in our collective imaginations in the same way that World War II does.

Someone recommended The Silver Donkey to me, and I thought, what with the comparative dearth of books set during that war in comparison to the Second World War, I’d add it to my library. Sonya Hartnett, the author, is an Australian writer. Her books, mostly written for children and young adults, have won numerous awards and prizes, including for the author the Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award from the Swedish Arts Council in 2008, a sort of lifetime achievement award in children’s literature. Knowing all of this, I was primed to enjoy The Silver Donkey.

And enjoy it I did. However, I must say that it’s an odd sort of book. Two sisters who live on coast of the English Channel (do the French call it the French Channel?) in France, find a man lying in the forest who appears to be dead. The sisters, Marcelle, age 10, and Coco, age 8, are deliciously thrilled with their discovery, brimming with “anticipation and glee.” Their response feels very French, and somewhat true to the nature of children. As they approach the man, they find that he is not dead, but merely sleeping. He also tells them that he cannot see.

Marcelle and Coco have found a British deserter who wants nothing more than to go home across the Channel, to see his family, especially his younger brother who the soldier believes is calling to him to come home. Marcelle and Coco, and later their brother Pascal, find a way in their childish simplicity to help the soldier by bringing him food and eventually by discovering means for him to cross the Channel to England. In return for their help, and to pass the time, the soldier tells the children stories–stories about donkeys.

These are not perfect children, nor are they role models. They take food from the family larder and lie to their parents about what has happened to the food. They keep secrets. They aid and abet an army deserter, and they squabble with one another. They are somewhat ghoulish; Pascal in particular wants stories about war and battles and violence and heroism. The donkeys in the stories are more admirable. The first story the soldier tells is about a faithful old donkey who takes the expectant Mary to Bethlehem for the census and brings her and her baby home safely. The second story is about a humble donkey whose humility saves the world from a terrible drought. And the war story that Pascal begs for ends up being about a donkey who carries the wounded to safety in the midst of battle–at the cost of his own life.

The whole book is bittersweet. The heroes are all fictional donkeys. The children are funny and very human; somehow they feel as if they could only be French children with a sort of French attitude toward life. The soldier is a hero who calls himself a coward, and he is both brave and tired, tired of war. He is so tired that he decides one day, after having fought courageously in the war for a year or more, to leave the battlefront and walk home. His blindness seems to be a psychosomatic response to the horrors of war.

I wouldn’t recommend this book for younger readers, but for children thirteen and older it might be a good introduction to the controversies surrounding the entirety of World War I. Was it a wasteful stalemate of a war, initiated and perpetuated by old men who sent young men to die for no reason? Is honor worth fighting for? Should a soldier be like the donkey, brave and humble and faithful, or are humans called to be more discerning and wise than donkeys can be? What is the proper response to a war or to a soldier who has abdicated his responsibility in a war? These are certainly questions for older children and adults to think about, and The Silver Donkey gives rise to thought and discussion about questions of this sort.

The donkey stories are the best parts of the book, though.

This book can be borrowed by member families from Meriadoc Homeschool Library.

The Tenth Mistake of Hank Hooperman by Gennifer Choldenko

Oct7

When I first started reading The Tenth Mistake of Hank Hooperman, I thought, “Oh, no! Not another condescending middle grade fiction book full of bathroom humor!” On the very first page, we find out that eleven year old Hank, who is trying to potty train his little sister, Boo, would prefer his sister called him “Superman”. Instead, her affectionate nickname for her beloved older brother is “Pooperman.” However, Boo’s nickname for Hank turns out to be about the only “potty humor” in the book, and precocious little Boo is a delightful breath of freshness and innocence in a book that otherwise deals with some heavy subjects.

A week ago, Hank’s single mom left him in charge of Boo in an apartment with very little food or money. Hank has taken care of himself and Boo so far with no major errors, but now they are completely out of food and money. And the apartment manager is threatening to evict them. With no family to turn to and no idea where his mom could be, Hank takes Boo across town to the home of a stranger that his mom once mentioned. It may be a level 10 mistake, but what else can he do?

The stranger, Lou Ann Adler, turns out to be an old friend of Hank’s dead grandmother, and she takes them in–for now. But Hank has to find his mom, figure out why she abandoned them, and decide whether or not he can trust her to take of him and Boo in the future. Hank is a good kid, hyper-responsible, and deeply afraid of making a mistake that will ruin their lives. I won’t spoil the story, but there is a positive, hopeful ending, after a lot of trauma, anxiety, and dangerous situations have been resolved.

The Tenth Mistake of Hank Hooperman reminded me a bit of Gary B. Schmidt’s novels Okay for Now and Just Like That. All three of these books show good kids thrown into situations that are way too hard for their maturity levels. And in all three books the kids, the boys, are desperately trying to figure out what to do about their situation and which adults to trust. I’m not sure Choldenko is quite as good as Schmidt at showing the nuances and complexities of the situation, but she’s not bad. Hank Hooperman is a good, believable character, and I really, really sympathized with his plight and his desire to avoid both small and catastrophic mistakes.

Cautions: There’s an ongoing thread about Boo’s potty training, including the words “crap” and “poop”. Hank engages in a major deception, for what seem like good reasons at the time, and he pays the consequences. A female friend at Hank’s new school wants to be his girlfriend, and his male friends tease him about the possibility of kissing her.

I would recommend this one for sixth grade and up. The story portrays positive models of compassionate adult behavior as well as the fact that not all adults are trustworthy. Hank himself is a character to root for, even though he does make mistakes and wrong choices.

“Why doesn’t someone invent a way to know if you’re about to make a mistake? A Mistake-a-nator that would light up red if you’re about to mess up. I could use one of those.”

Going Places by Aileen Fisher

Oct3

Fisher, Aileen. Going Places. Designed and illustrated by Midge Quenell. Bowman, 1973.

Poet and author Aileen Fisher wrote over a hundred children’s books, and all of those that I have seen are delightful. Her poems are easy to read and accessible, mostly about animals and the natural world. Going Places is a poem in picture book format, illustrated by Midge Quenell.

“How do you travel, bird in the sky?

Sometimes I glide, but mostly I fly.

How do you travel. fish in the sea?

Swimming is always in fashion with me.”

The poem becomes more detailed and vivid with each animal’s locomotion that is described, but the rhythm and rhyme and vocabulary remain simple and preschool-appropriate. Ms. Fisher tells us in poetry how snails, rabbits, snakes, bees, beetles, hornets, crickets, mice, frogs, koalas, opossums, and penguins move about and travel through their various habitats. Finally, the poem moves to a description of how school children travel by various ways and means, and “sometime, though probably not very soon, we’ll purchase a ticket and go to the moon.”

Midge Quennel’s watercolor illustrations accompany and support the text of the poem well. And the lettering by Paul Taylor gives the travel saga a whimsical look that also goes with the poem itself quite handily.

The last week, Week #52, in Picture Book Preschool is titled Going Places, so this book fits comfortably into that niche. It’s out of print but used copies are still available as of this blog posting at a reasonable price. And this book would be perfect for preschool story time or for a morning time picture book, quick and engaging food for the imagination. What other animal movements could you talk about? What are some other ways that people travel that are not in the poem?

This Picture Book Preschool book can be borrowed by member families from Meriadoc Homeschool Library.

The Cuckoo’s Calling by Robert Galbraith

Sep30

Definitely not for everybody. Robert Galbraith’s (J.K. Rowling’s) first book in her crime series about private detective Cormoran Strike is gritty and contains quite a bit of bad language, mostly F-bombs. (By the way, I really like that name, Cormoran Strike. It feels quirky and detective-like and memorable.) I wish Rowling could have toned down the language, but I must admit that in the world of celebrities and super-models where this particular mystery takes place, the dialog probably accurately reflects the characters and their common everyday use of language.

Cormoran Strike is a tortured soul, as most detectives usually are these days. Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple were rather ordinary and well-adjusted, except for their exceptional detecting abilities. Lord Peter Wimsey had a somewhat complicated background and some psychological issues, but nothing like what modern detectives of stage, screen, and literature have to deal with. Cormoran Strike has a dysfunctional childhood and a vengeful ex-girlfriend, and he’s lost one leg to a land mine in Afghanistan. And he’s practically homeless with his detective business about to go bankrupt due to a lack of clients.

So, when the wealthy brother of legendary super-model Lula Landry asks Cormoran to investigate the death, apparent suicide, of his sister, the detective is willing even though he doubts the police could have missed anything in the case, considering all the publicity surrounding Lula’s death. The case itself is a look into the lives of the rich and famous, a world that is not completely foreign to Cormoran Strike, whose mother was a “super-groupie” following his rock star father around for a while back in the 70’s.

The novel is well plotted, and I didn’t figure out whodunnit or how until the very end. There is also a lot of good character development as the story slowly introduces Cormoran Strike, his background, and his personality as well as his detecting methods and habits, learned through his time in the army as an army investigator. We also meet another character who will show up in subsequent novels, I’m sure: Robin Ellacott, the temp secretary and office manager that Cormoran can’t afford to keep on but finds invaluable in ferreting out clues and information for him to use in his investigation. The story is told in third person, but mostly from the viewpoint of either Cormoran Strike or Robin Ellacott, so we get to be privy to some of Strike’s thoughts as well as Robin’s, understanding how they react to one another and to the suspects and witnesses to Lula Landry’s suicide–or murder. The duo work together well, but frequently misunderstand one another in small ways that make the story intriguing and keep the reader guessing as to what will happen next.

I liked it well enough to request the next book in the series from the library, and if the language and grit don’t get any worse, I’ll probably continue to read the entire series. The other books in the series so far are:

  • The Silkworm
  • Career of Evil
  • Lethal White
  • Troubled Blood
  • The Ink Black Heart
  • The Running Grave
  • The Hallmarked Man? (not yet published)

Again, the content is dark, including foul language, drug use, sexual immorality (not described explicitly in this book), and violence (somewhat gritty, but not too much detail). This is a book for adults, not children or teens. But the characters are engaging, and the mystery was satisfying in its conclusion. J.K. Rowling is a good writer with a talent for more than fantasy writing.

Have You Heard the Nesting Bird? by Rita Gray

Sep19

Gray, Rita. Have You Heard the Nesting Bird? Illustrated by Kenard Pak. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2014.

I read this picture book through once, quickly, and thought it was rather slight, not much to it. Then, for some reason, I decided to pick it up again, and this second time I read through it slowly–and aloud. It’s a book meant to be read aloud because it includes all of the bird songs. For example, the wood thrush says “ee-oh-lay”, and the cardinal says “cheer-cheer-cheer-purdy-purdy-purdy”.

To rewind back to the beginning, two children, a boy and a girl, are outdoors, watching and listening to the birds that are singing their various songs. So the children, and the reader, are introduced to about a dozen species of birds in the pictures and in the text that gives an approximation of their songs. However, the children keep coming back to the tree where there is a robin in a nest and asking each other, “But have you heard the nesting bird?” The nesting bird doesn’t make a sound.

The story ends by revealing what the nesting robin has been doing and why she is so quiet. And a sort of appendix called “A Word with the Bird” has the mother robin answering questions, such as “why are you so quiet in your nest?” and “do you have a song?”.

So, to my delight, there was more here than at first meets the eye. In fact, it’s a book about birds and bird songs, and I added it to Picture Book Preschool under the heading of Hearing and Touching because of all of the bird sounds that are introduced. There’s a note in the back that tells readers that they can hear more robin songs and sounds at a certain web address, but it doesn’t work. Broken web addresses are an occupational hazard, I suppose. Try this website, All About Birds, instead.

This Picture Book Preschool book can be borrowed by member families from Meriadoc Homeschool Library.

Mossy by Jan Brett

Sep5

“One summer morning, my husband, Joe, and I were dangling our feet from our dock on Goose Lake. I was watching some waterweeds on the bottom, thinking they looked just like a giant turtle. Suddenly, they swam up toward us. It was a turtle, a huge snapping one, with an underwater ‘garden’ on its shell.”

Author illustrator Jan Brett was inspired by the turtle with a garden on its back to write Mossy, the story of an eastern box turtle who also grows a garden on her carapace (shell). In the story Mossy the turtle becomes the showpiece of Dr. Carolina’s natural history museum, but Dr. Carolina’s niece, Tory, isn’t so sure that Mossy is happy in her museum habitat. Romance enters the picture when Mossy meets Scoot, a handsome male turtle with ruby-red eyes. But will Mossy be able to get back to Lilypad Pond where Scoot is pining for her?

The book is laid out in Jan Brett’s signature style with lush, colorful illustrations in a central large page or two-page spread painting, framed by smaller pictures of minor characters and objects from the story. Mossy herself is a delightfully expressive turtle with a garden full of leaves and mushrooms and flowers and wild berries on her back. Her male counterpart, Scoot, doesn’t have a garden, but he is indeed a handsome turtle. The human characters–Dr. Carolina, Tory, and a couple of sisters named Flora and Fauna–are dressed in late nineteenth century/early twentieth century clothing to give the book a quaint old-fashioned feeling that goes along with the story very nicely.

Box turtles “generally live for 25-35 years but have been known to survive to over 100 years old,” according to my internet research. The author implies at the end of the book that Mossy. with her turtleback garden, might still be living near Lilypad Pond where she first appears in the story. I certainly hope so.

I’ve added this book to Picture Book Preschool under the heading of Reptiles and Fish. (Turtles are reptiles, right?) I have two other Jan Brett title listed in Picture Book Preschool: The Hat and Brett’s illustrated version of The Night Before Christmas by Clement Clark Moore. However, Ms. Brett is a prolific author and illustrator, and I have many of her books in my library. Do you have a favorite Jan Brett book? Tell us all about it in the comments.

This Picture Book Preschool book can be borrowed by member families from Meriadoc Homeschool Library.

Ratty by Suzanne Selfors

Sep2

Ratty Barclay isn’t supposed to be a four foot tall rodent. He was born a boy, but something, maybe the Barclay Curse, turned him into a rat soon after his birth. And now Ratty wants to come out of hiding and somehow break the curse. He’s in hiding because people generally hate rats, especially human-sized talking rats. And his uncle Max has protected Ratty from the world of rat-hating humans for almost thirteen years, but Ratty thinks he can break the curse if he can return to Fairweather Island and the Barclay family estate where it all began.

What Ratty doesn’t know is that on Fairweather Island, indeed on the Barclay Estate itself, lives Edweena Gup, granddaughter of the manor’s groundskeeper and Ratcatcher Extraordinaire. Edweena is obsessed with rats, even though the island has no rats and she herself has never had the opportunity to catch or kill one. She has certainly studied them, gathered the tools for exterminating them, and considers herself the heir of her great-great-great grandmother’s legacy and skill at rat-catching.

Will Ratty be able to break the Barclay Curse? Will Edweena find Ratty and trap him before he can? Will something catastrophic happen to Uncle Max on Fairweather Island? What is the Barclay Curse? Why have so many Barclays died in mysterious circumstances? Why is Edweena so afraid of rats? Why is Ratty a rat when he was born a boy to human parents?

Here’s where the spoilers come into this review. If you don’t want to know the answers to the above questions, or at least some of the answers, don’t read any further. It’s a good little story, entertaining and clever and clean of everything except rats, lots of rats, and I recommend it for those who enjoy quirky. If you don’t mind introducing the idea of a family curse (it’s fiction, guys!), Ratty is good, wholesome reading for nine to twelve year olds who enjoy odd little stories about unusual characters and events, with a little humor thrown into the mix.

However as an adult, living in the 2024 world of gender dysphoria and identity confusion, I couldn’t help looking for signs that this simple story had a hidden meaning. Is Ratty’s discomfort with his rat body an allegory for body dysmorphia? Does Ratty’s desire to break the curse and change back into a human boy with a human body mirror the desires of many young people nowadays to change their bodies and to become something they are not? I don’t think kids will read any of this into the story, but I’m not a child. And I’ve seen too many children’s books lately that have a barely hidden agenda.

Well, long story short, here’s the spoiler: at the end of the book, Ratty decides that the Barclay Curse is not what made him a rat, and he accepts the body he has and his rat habits. He stays a rat, albeit a really large and somewhat human-like rat (R.O.U.S?). We never find out how or why Ratty became a rat. So, if the book was intended to support in some way the gender confusion of this decade, it doesn’t work that way. I think it’s just a quirky story, reminiscent of The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins in its inexplicable mysteriousness, about a rat and a family curse and an island and a girl who learns that friendship and firsthand knowledge can overcome fear.

Maybelle The Cable Car by Virginia Lee Burton

Aug29

Burton, Virginia Lee. Maybelle the Cable Car. Houghton Mifflin, 1952.

Maybelle the Cable Car! A San Francisco treat!

Virginia Lee Burton wrote and illustrated the classics Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel and The Little House and Katy and the Big Snow. Maybelle the Cable Car ranks right up there with Ms. Burton’s other lovely books. Set in San Francisco, this picture book tells the story of how Maybelle and the other cable cars work hard going up and down the many hills of the city. In their big green barn at night, Maybelle and the other cable car reminisce about the good old days in San Francisco when the city was smaller and slower and every one knew everyone else and everyone appreciated the cable cars. Now the cable cars, who work for the city government, are neglected, and Big Bill the Bus says they are “too old and out of date, much too slow and can’t be safe.”

Like Mary Anne, Mike Mulligan’s steam shovel, Maybelle is in danger of becoming obsolete and being scrapped. But, of course, the book is named for Maybelle, so that can’t happen. “Virginia Lee Burton’s . . . classic story recounts actual events in the city of San Francisco’s efforts to preserve and protect its cable cars and illustrates how the voice of the people can be heard in the spirit of democracy.”

The story of Maybelle the Cable Car might require some explanation of how votes and petitions and ballots work and how people can band together to ask their government leaders to change their plans. But you could just read the book and answer questions afterwards, if asked. Children often don’t need to understand everything in a picture book in order to enjoy it. There are also some technical details about how cable cars work at the beginning of the book that will be of great interest to some children and not so much to others.

I’m adding this book to my guide, Picture Book Preschool, in the new, expanded edition under the subject heading of United States History. It really does show the history of San Francisco from the perspective of the cable cars who remember how the city grew and changed. And with so many picture books and children’s books set in New York City and on the east coast, it’s good to have one that takes place on the west coast. Now, if only I could find a fantastic picture book set on the Gulf Coast!

This Picture Book Preschool book can be borrowed by member families from Meriadoc Homeschool Library.